Red Hill (5 page)

“Shit,” I said, my eyes darting between the corpses and the Toyota. I honked several times, too. “Get in the car. Get in the car!” I yelled the last words, banging my palms against the steering wheel.

The man jumped up and down a few more times.

“Get in, John! Get in!” his wife screamed, leaning over the console and grabbing for him.

John jumped back in, and pulled away quickly. I followed close behind, my heart thumping in my chest as I passed the approaching corpses safely.

A dozen or more appeared in my rearview mirror, and then I saw several people—alive people—dart across the street. The green pickup was still a block away from the church, waiting for something.

My heart never settled down after we left Fairview. I was just that much closer to my children, and closer to the obstacles I would likely face to get to them, closer to knowing if they were alive.

Tears streamed down my face as we approached the overpass that would bring us into the edge of my hometown. At first, it didn't faze me that there were army reserve vehicles of every shape and size parked at the mouth of the overpass. I was too distracted by the mess of vehicles on the interstate below.

“Jesus,” I breathed.

It was as I had feared. Multiple-car pileups and stalled vehicles. Some people were standing outside of their cars and trucks, begging from the on-ramp for the soldiers to let them pass.

The Toyota stopped at what seemed like a checkpoint. John exited the car, and immediately something felt off. The soldiers were antsy, their eyes darting from each other, to the car, to John. Governor Bellmon was in town, so they were probably keeping Anderson quarantined, controlling who came in. Making sure no shuffling dead snuck by and threatened the man who might be the only living member of the state government, especially knowing the state capitol had been overrun.

John tried to shake one of the soldiers' hands, but the soldier only offered the barrel of his combat rifle. Adrenaline pumped faster and faster through my body, and every inch of me was on high alert. The soldiers were behaving erratically; nervous. John pointed past the soldier, and then to his family in the car. I could see he was becoming more and more agitated.

I looked down. There was a pickup truck upside down on the interstate below. It was full of bullet holes. To my left, a full-sized van, also covered in holes, was sitting about fifty yards off the shoulder in the grass. I put the Jeep in reverse.

“Just get in your car, John,” I whispered.

When the soldier wouldn't budge, John took a step and shoved the soldier in the shoulder before returning to his car. I could see from thirty feet away it was just out of frustration. John probably had someone inside Anderson that he loved and wanted to get to—maybe an older child. In the end, the only thing any of us wanted was to be with our loved ones.

Thirty feet away was close enough to see the soldier give the order, to see them all point their automatic rifles at John's car, and light it up. But thirty feet away was too far to warn him.

As soon as John sat in his seat, the soldiers opened fire, filling every inch of the silver Toyota Camry with bullets. Instinctively, I stomped on the gas pedal, so hard that my chest was shoved into the steering wheel.

“No! Oh my God! No!” I screamed, yanking the gearshift into drive as I turned the wheel in the opposite direction. They weren't letting anyone in, and worse, the entrances were being guarded by scared young soldiers with automatic weapons. They had either been given orders to eliminate anyone who approached them, or they were operating without communication from their commanding officers. The latter seemed more likely—and more frightening.

I could barely see through my tears, quickly jerking the wheel north down a country road. How would I get to my girls? Were the soldiers gunning down everyone in town, too?

I forced my mind to stop wandering and focused on a solution. Getting inside the city limits was the goal. Anderson was my birthplace. I knew the ins and outs better than those soldiers. There had to be a way in.

On the northeast edge of town was a dirt road adjacent to a heavily wooded area. Those woods were nestled between the dirt road and the main road through town. The soldiers would likely patrol there, but on the other side was river, tall grass, and the old Blackwell Street Bridge. If I could get close enough to that wooded area, and then make it across the main highway, I just might be able to sneak across the bridge and follow Blackwell Street almost all the way to Andrew's house.

The only way to do that undetected would be to wait until dark. The thought of walking around in the dark while those things were shuffling around created an instant sick feeling that came over me in waves, but no matter how terrifying it was, that was the only way to reach my children.

I drove three miles north of Anderson's eastern limits, and then cut east once I thought I was clear. The Jeep bounced over an overpass not nearly as wide as the soldiers', and then kicked up red dirt as I barreled toward my chosen point. Three miles was enough to stay out of sight of whoever might have been guarding the north entrance. I didn't even come across any shuffling things.

The Jeep slowed to a stop. For the first time, I realized that my purse hadn't made it with me to the Jeep—or my cell phone—and my stomach turned. The phone lines probably weren't working, but it made me feel sick not to have any way to even try to call Andrew . . . or anyone else. I looked around for shufflers, locked the doors, and then crawled into the back seat. I pulled up the piece of carpet hiding the tire iron. That and a small flashlight were the only things of use.

I waited in the driver's seat, ready to drive away at the first sight of a shuffler. My ears perked at every sound, and my muscles twitched every time a gust of wind rattled the leaves and grass around me. I hummed a random tune, picked at my fingernails, made sure my sneakers were double-knotted, and then talked to God.

As the sun set, the level of anxiety I was sustaining felt nearly unmanageable. My mind struggled not to revisit the moment John and his wife and baby were murdered. I also fought imagining whatever awful scenes I might stumble upon once I breached the streets of Anderson. The guarded entrances were both helpful and a hindrance. The armed guards, fearful and quick on the trigger, would at least keep the threat of shufflers to a minimum.

Darkness began to paint shadows across the woods, and with the rise of the half-moon came the fall in temperature. I rubbed my hands together, and then wrapped my arms around my ribs for warmth, wishing I had something heavier than a scrub jacket. Soon, I would be walking around in the dark, my ears and a tire iron my only weapon against anything hunting from the shadows, and the tire iron wasn't going to be much help. Anyone that hadn't been hiding under a rock could tell you that the only way to kill someone of the dead persuasion was to obliterate the brain stem. I needed a gun or at least something sharp enough to penetrate bone. Beating in the skull of a shuffler would take more time than I could spare.

It's incredible, the way the imagination can physically affect the body. My heart rate had doubled, and I was beginning to sweat. The more my fear crept up, the more I kept reminding myself that my girls needed me. They were probably scared to death, and no matter what happened or what state they were in, I wanted to be with them.

Nathan

ZOE INSTINCTIVELY KEPT HER HEAD
down, or else she was mimicking me, as we hurried to the car. Gunshots rang out two houses over, and I looked over to see my neighbor Lyle Edson shooting someone approaching his front porch in the face. An ambulance raced by, the back doors open and waving around as it fishtailed with lights and sirens blaring down the street.

“Daddy?” Zoe said. The fear in her voice was real. Something I wanted to shield her from until the world wouldn't let me anymore. I couldn't shield her from this; hell was raining down all around us.

My hands shook as I tried to shove the key in the door to unlock it.

“Daddy?” Zoe said again.

“Just a second, baby,” I said, cursing at my trembling hands under my breath. Finally the key entered the slit and I turned it. In the same second, Zoe squeezed my hand.

“Daddy!”

I turned, seeing a police officer approach. He was shuffling slowly in our direction, his jaw relaxed, letting his mouth lie open. A low moan emanated from his throat. I picked up the bat that I'd propped against the car while trying to unlock the door, and then I stepped in front of Zoe.

“Stop right there,” I said. The police officer kept walking. I held the bat in front of me.

“If you can understand what I'm saying, please stop. I am going to hit you with this bat if you come closer.”

Zoe gripped the back of my pants, and I gripped the aluminum. “Close your eyes, Zoe.”

My daughter's tiny hands left the fabric of my pants, and I pulled the bat back and to the side, in perfect position to swing. Before I could, a shot rang out. The police officer went down. I froze, and then saw Lyle Edson standing a few feet to my left.

“Thank you,” I said with a nod.

“Better grab his sidearm and get that little girl outta here,” Lyle said.

“You want to come?”

Lyle shook his head. “My wife's inside. She's been bit. I'm going to stay with her.”

I nodded and then leaned down, unsnapping the officer's holster and removing his sidearm. I grabbed his radio, too, and then decided to take his whole belt.

Zoe opened the driver's side door and crawled over the console to her side. We both buckled our seatbelts, and I started the car. The gas tank showed three quarters left. I wasn't sure how close to safety we could get on three-quarters of a tank, but we had to leave town.

Zoe reached up to lock her door.

“Better lock the back door, too,” I said, doing the same. I backed out of the drive and went in the same direction as the ambulance. I figured I should get away from whatever they were escaping from in such a hurry.

Chapter Five

Scarlet

THE LAST RAYS OF SUN
unceremoniously fell behind the horizon. Shaking with fear, I slowly stepped out of the Jeep. My tennis shoes, still a little wet from the morning rain, sunk into thick mud. Clutching the tire iron to my chest, I took a step into the woods. The night was quiet—so quiet that every movement I made seemed like a boom echoing through the trees.

Every sound made my body freeze. Could they see in the dark? Did they rely on smell like an animal? Only when I thought of my girls waiting for me did I find enough courage to take another step.

About an hour later, a dragging noise startled me enough to make me cling to a tree. I hugged it to me and closed my eyes, trying to listen for danger over the pounding in my heart and gasping breath.

Just when I thought I might hyperventilate, my eyes popped open wide to try to pull in enough light to penetrate the darkness. Something darker than the dark and about as tall as a man crossed from one tree to another, only twenty yards or so from me. I closed my eyes tight one last time, and then broke into a sprint, refusing to stop until I slipped in the culvert beside the main highway in and out of town.

My knees hit hard, and then my stomach, chest, and face shortly after. Face and palms down in the mud, I quickly tuned in to the sounds around me, and then flipped over, searching in a panic for whatever was hunting me.

My chest heaved as my lungs tried to keep up with the constant adrenaline pumping through my body. A scream welled up in my chest, but recognition choked back the noise. Drawing anyone's attention—alive or dead—could end my rescue mission before it started.

A man walked toward me, his arms out, trying to wave away the scream he could see was about to echo throughout the east side of Anderson.

The fear in his dark eyes was highlighted by the amount of white surrounding them. “Ssssh! I'm not going to hurt you!” he said in a loud whisper.

He slid in next to me, his clothes and skin already soiled with mud, spattered in some places, saturated in others. He looked like he'd been crawling on his belly through the woods for days.

I pressed my lips together to stifle a yelp, my entire body shaking involuntarily.

“I'm not going to hurt you,” he said again, panting. He didn't need the mud. His skin was dark enough to keep him hidden, even if he was well over six feet tall. “I didn't mean to scare you. I'm just trying to get into town. Same as you.”

I nodded, unable to form a proper response.

“My name's Tobin. You . . . you okay?”

I took a deep breath, trying to settle my nerves. “Scarlet.”

Tobin took a quick scan of our surroundings. “Are you from Anderson?”

“I used to be.”

Tobin nodded. “You got family in there, don't you?”

“My little girls,” I said, feeling salty tears fill my eyes. For the first time since I'd left the Jeep, I felt cold. My body hadn't stopped shaking, and I was already exhausted.

Tobin pressed his lips together. “My sister and her kids live here. She ain't got nobody.”

The knowledge that I wasn't totally alone gave me enough strength to focus on my plan. I pointed across the highway to another patch of woods. “Across the road is a valley that runs alongside the river. There's an old bridge maybe three blocks south of here.”

Tobin frowned. “There are soldiers at every entrance, and they're walking the streets. Anderson is some type of military state now.”

“The governor is in there somewhere. He was visiting today. My daughters were supposed to meet him.”

Tobin shook his head. “That explains it, then. I'm not sure whether I should be glad or sick to my stomach. I mean . . . who gives a shit about his title when the whole world is going to hell, right?”

I laughed once without humor. “It's a good time to throw his rank around. At least he's not crawling through the mud.”

Tobin offered a small smile. “We better get going. They could do another sweep of the woods soon.”

“Another?”

Tobin looked at his mud-covered front and then back at me. “A word of advice: If you see a dead person walking, run the other way. If you see a soldier, hide. They were shooting the bodies lying in the road earlier. Just making sure, I guess.”

Tobin waited as I darted across the highway. My legs seemed to be moving in slow motion, but before I knew it, I was across the lit four lanes and hidden once again on the other side. A few seconds later, Tobin joined me.

I had never felt so much comfort from being around a complete stranger. That was just one more thing you didn't learn from the zombie movies.

Keeping to the overgrown foliage around the river, Tobin and I trudged through the mud to the looming Blackwell Street Bridge. An army truck passed over slowly, and we had to leap under the steel and asphalt to escape the spotlight they were shining on the river. I held my hands over my mouth. A body was floating facedown on the surface of the water, not two feet from where Tobin and I had walked just moments before. Shots rang out, the body convulsed as it was showered with bullets, and then the truck moved on, the spotlight parallel to its path.

Tobin reached out and touched my arm. “It's okay. They're gone. I need to take a piss, and then we'll keep going.”

His words struck me as odd. I had to wait and take stock of my bodily functions, to figure out if I even had to take a bathroom break. All of a sudden, my bladder felt like it was going to burst, and it was all I could do to get my scrub pants untied and my panties around my ankles fast enough to keep from urinating all over myself.

Tobin met me at the edge of the water. It was dark, and it didn't seem like a good idea to swim, but we couldn't risk taking the bridge across, either.

“Did you think this far ahead?” Tobin asked, staring at the flowing river. The rain earlier had made the current stronger, and the water level higher.

“Not really, but we can't get caught on that bridge. They'll take one look at us and know we snuck in. They'll shoot us on sight.”

“Agreed. You used to live here. What do you think we should do?”

“We can either try to find a shallower place downstream, try to cross here, or use the rope swing on the other side of the bridge.”

“The rope swing?” Tobin said, dubious.

“There's been one on that tree over there as long as I can remember. They keep one there for the kids that live around here.”

Tobin stared at me blankly.

I shrugged. “The city pool is on the other side of town.”

Tobin blinked. “What kind of backward redneck village did my sister move to?”

Nathan

“
LYLE SHOT A COP
,
DADDY
.”

“I saw that,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

“What's happening?” Zoe said. “Why is everyone fighting?”

“Some of the people are sick,” I said, turning on the police radio. “I think.”

Reports were coming in that the virus had affected all counties. After a while, the dispatcher stopped talking, so I turned up the car radio. Thirty-two of the forty-eight contiguous states reported casualties and illness. The East Coast reported that those who had chosen not to receive the flu vaccination were not showing symptoms as quickly as those who had. Some reports said that those who had had the flu shot didn't necessarily need to get bitten or attacked before they caught the virus. They would reanimate no matter how they died. I glanced over at Zoe. She had an egg allergy like I did. People with egg allergies were advised against the shot unless they stayed under the supervision of a doctor post-inoculation. Even though my allergy wasn't severe, Aubrey and I decided the benefit didn't outweigh the risk, for me or for Zoe. Well, I did . . . Aubrey left the decision to me. I let a small sigh of relief escape my lips. If I only did one thing right, I'm glad it was that.

All roads proved to be an obstacle course. If I wasn't jerking the wheel to the left, I was yanking it to the right, dodging people, other cars, and general debris left behind by the pandemonium. Aubrey used to always bitch about my driving, but we were almost out of town, and I'd yet to crash into anything. Even if it were a small miracle, even she couldn't complain about my driving skills now.

Zoe pointed ahead. We were on one of the few roads out of town that I thought would still be open. It was paved, but just a few miles ahead it would turn to dirt. Halfway between was a railroad crossing. A train was visible a little less than a half-mile away, and soon the lights would blink red, and the crossing rails would lower. There were cars behind me, and God knows what else. We couldn't get caught behind that train. The sedan's nearly bald tires wouldn't be able to forge through the wheat fields between us and the next road.

I pressed on the gas.

“Daddy, slow down!”

“I can't, Zoe. We can't wait for the train.” I reached over and yanked up her seatbelt to be sure it was tight, and then I put both hands on the wheel. The crossing rails began their descent. The horn of the train wailed, drawn out and sad. I used to think that sound was romantic. Now it was what was keeping me from getting my daughter to someplace safe.

My foot ground against the gas pedal, slamming it to the floor.

“Daddy, no!”

The first crossing rail just grazed the paint on the top of the car, but we took the second rail out, easily snapping it in half. Zoe flipped around, covering her mouth. I looked in the rearview mirror. The wine-colored Lincoln Town Car behind us must have had the same idea, but was a second too slow. The train clipped its back bumper and sent it into a spin. The front end of the car whipped around, crashing into the train a few times before it was spit out a bit farther down into the wheat field. If they weren't badly hurt, they were going to have to walk.

“We should go back!”

I shook my head. “We're going to Uncle Skeeter and Aunt Jill's.” Skeeter McGee was Aubrey's little brother. Aubrey's obvious disdain for me made Skeeter like me that much more. They lived in a tiny two-bedroom dump of a house just on this side of Fairview. The town was small. Small enough not to have to worry about a herd of the undead surrounding us.

Zoe's lips turned up in the tiniest hint of a grin. Skeeter and Jill hadn't been married but a couple of years, and had no children. Skeeter was in love with Zoe like she was his own, and Jill was just as crazy about her.

One more reason to make a beeline for Fairview was that Skeeter was a hunting enthusiast, and had several pistols and hunting rifles with plenty of ammo. It would be the perfect place to hole up and wait out the end of the world.

The two-lane road didn't have the congestion I expected. A few times I had to steer around a two- or three-car pileup, most likely from the initial panic and worried drivers not paying attention, but for the most part the cars on the road were driving along at moderate speeds. Zoe pointed out her window when we arrived at Old Creek Bridge. A man was bent over, vomiting next to his '76 Buick LeSabre while his wife touched his back. Her expression was more than worry or fear; the residual lines on her face were deepened by resignation.

“Is he one of the sick people, Daddy?” Zoe asked as we drove slowly past them.

The woman looked up, hopelessness in her eyes, and then she helped her husband to the passenger side of their car.

“I don't know, baby.”

“Maybe we should stop and help them.”

“I don't think we can,” I said, pulling my cell phone from my pocket. I tried to dial Skeeter's number to warn him we were coming, but all I heard was a busy signal. Of course the phone lines would be down.

We caught up to a short line of cars, one after another slowing as we approached and passed Kellyville. Not a single person could be seen. I didn't dare hope for the same in Fairview. As we approached the outskirts of town, it seemed quiet. At first, I thought maybe we were faster than the sickness, but then the car in front slammed on its brakes as a woman ran across the road screaming, followed by a man covered in blood, much of it concentrated around his mouth. The woman had the most beautiful brunette hair I'd ever seen flowing behind her. She was running so fast, her hair was waving behind her head like a flag. Tires squealed against the asphalt, and a car in front led a frantic escape through town. The other vehicles chased it. I wasn't sure if any of them had meant to come here, but they definitely weren't going to stay.

I glanced over at Zoe. “There are sick people here, Zoe. When I say so, I want you to unbuckle your seat belt and I'm going to carry you inside.”

Zoe nodded. She blinked a few times. I could tell she was nervous, but not because she was afraid to die. She wanted to make sure she did what I asked of her, and did it correctly. Zoe was always particular about procedures, especially when they were spoken and not just implied. Rules were formed very carefully in our house. They were something we couldn't take back. If there was an exception, we didn't enlighten Zoe, because she didn't understand the concept of an exception to the rule, and if we tried to explain it to her, she would get upset.

“Zoe?”

“Yes, Daddy?”

“It's time to unbuckle your seatbelt.”

Zoe did as she was told as I made the first right and then pulled into Skeeter's driveway. Once the car came to a stop, I shoved the gear into park and pulled Zoe over to my side, and we ran quickly but quietly to Skeeter's back door. No one ever came to their front door, and if they did, Skeeter knew they were either a salesman or a cop, and Skeeter answered the door for neither.

I pounded on the storm door with the side of my fist, still holding Zoe by the waist with my other arm. The barrel of Jill's .22 became visible, as it pulled the curtain away just enough for her to get a good look at my face.

“It's us,” I said, glancing behind me.